chagall backdrop

Today, this cold crisp April day
there’s the smell of smoke and soil.

The attitude of sunlight just so
illuminates zephyrs in treetops
and gargoyles rutted in the shadow of rough bark.

They’re all smiling, so that’s a good sign –
right?

And the wind is actually whistling,
oval lips over an empty bottle
while now and then more menacing tones
much more gasp than whistle or song, hang there high in the field.

The hawk is anxious I know, that I not mistake it as soft.

And I travel back too easily and swiftly
to another place and day so much like this one,
to a time more deeply hued though equally sun-dappled.

Soft curls of white smoke hide me from my knees down;
I’m sure it’s my altitude.

© Chagall 2014